


The Proper Way to Eat a Scone

by Caedmon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mild Language, Silly, no beta - we fall like mne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24475978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have beenfriendshereditary enemies for six thousand years. They know each other better than anyone else, and despite being an angel and a demon, get on quite well together. Except for a couple of minor issues that keep cropping up...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 115
Collections: Week 16: Angry Idiots





	The Proper Way to Eat a Scone

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by [this art](https://pomixart.tumblr.com/post/188614884240/there-are-so-many-ways-to-use-a-bench-which-one?fbclid=IwAR3-uKwwO1Cyx6NZ6lJjiexHosva3cLArrbDbY94mtDCz1c0ibqsx__CUjY) by pomixart. I took them off of a bench, but the sentiment is the same. <3 
> 
> The idea for the source of the argument was prompted by Miele_Petite and then my favorite British Twin, Lurlur, helped me flesh it out. In fact, she deserves coauthor credit, she did so much, but she won't take it. I have been informed, as an ignorant American, that there is a right and wrong way to eat a scone, but I'll leave it up to you, dear reader, as to which side of the argument you think Aziraphale and Crowley fall on. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, so all the mistakes are mine. Kudos and comments are love. Thank you!

“You’re being ridiculous,” Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale sniffed, but otherwise ignored him, instead looked around the crowded cafe they were in at the other diners as if he were supremely unconcerned. 

“It doesn’t even _matter_ ,” he insisted. 

“On the contrary, it matters a great deal,” Aziraphale replied in a haughty tone, still not looking at him.

“It’s a fucking _scone_!”

“This is about much more than a scone, dear. It’s about respect, and your lack of it for me.”

Crowley sputtered. “You - you think I don’t _respect_ you?”

“You know it bothers me, and yet you do it anyway,” Aziraphale pointed out, his voice cool. 

The demon scoffed. “Oh. Sure. Yeah. I eat my scone that way _just_ to piss you off. Right.”

“You are a _demon_ , after all. I wouldn’t put it past you. But either way, you are an uncivilized boor.”

Crowley was fuming. There were millions of things he wanted to say, but in the middle of a crowded cafe was not the place. 

“Sanctimonious bastard,” he muttered, furious - all he would allow himself at the moment.

Aziraphale sniffed again, his nose in the air, and refused to look at Crowley. Crowley, in return, refused to look at the angel, focusing his glare on a droopy ficus near the hostess stand at the front of the restaurant. 

The silence stretched for long minutes, and Crowley stewed. Aziraphale was so _infuriating_. In six thousand years, Crowley had never known anyone who was so rigid. Inflexible. Stubborn as a fucking mule. 

He contemplated getting up, storming out, and not looking back. Telling the angel to fuck off and have a nice eternity. Crowley didn’t need this shit. He didn’t need _him_. He’d lived six millennia without Aziraphale, the jackass. And he’d had less headaches during that time. 

But Satan help him, he loved that ridiculous angel. His life was sweeter because of Aziraphale - even if it _was_ more maddening. And Aziraphale was right, in that Crowley _knew_ he disliked seeing him eat scones that way. They’d been having the same argument for over a hundred years, every time one or the other of them ordered scones in a cafe. The recurring scone argument was just the latest in a long line of minor squabbles they butted heads over every chance they got: How long to let red wine breathe. Whether he was King James I or King James V. Whether to take honey or sugar in tea. For fuck's sake, they even bickered over how to _pronounce_ 'scone'. 

No one ever emerged the victor in these fights, they were always a draw. But they kept life interesting. 

Crowley darted a look at Aziraphale from behind his glasses, who was still studiously ignoring him. Fine. That was just fine. Stubborn arse. 

Silently, eyes still averted, Aziraphale lay his arm on the table, his hand resting near the midpoint. Crowley looked it for a moment, recognizing it for what it was, then lay his hand over Aziraphale’s, surrendering. The angel’s thumb came up to cover Crowley’s fingers at once, and they were holding hands - but still not looking at each other. The silence lengthened, and they gently used their thumbs to stroke each other’s hands, making up without words.

“You’re still a santimonious bastard,” Crowley mumbled. 

“And you’re an uncivilized boor. But I love you.”

The demon softened. “I love you, too.”

“Good. Does this mean that we’re going to stop arguing about this now?”

“Not on your life.”

“I thought not. But as long as you swear to never put the two halves together and eat it like a sandwich, I suppose I can continue to be seen in public with you.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Whatever. As if I'd ever do that. Are you ready to go?”

“After you, dear.”


End file.
